Vibe Rater

A Yankees bar packed with Red Sox fans?

It's Rudy Giuliani's new campaign headquarters!

Or it could be. With 72 screens crammed into such a narrow tavern, Blue Seats feels like a military command center, albeit one serving truffle-oiled mac 'n cheese for $16 a plate.

The inescapable and overwhelming TV exposure recalls that re-conditioning scene in Stanley Kubrick's Clockwork Orange--only, combined with massive quantities of beer, it seems to have the opposite effect.

On Wednesday night, a trio of rowdy fratty dudes got into a bitchy scuffle, knocking into patrons at the bar and disasterously causing one reporter to spill his beer.

What's that they say in Boston? "Cowboy up!"

We found ourselves, by accident (long short story), eating lunch on Wednesday at Union Square Cafe. That, in itself, wouldn't be noteworthy, but it happened to be the day that the Zagat 2008 guide came out; and Union Square Cafe happened to be named the most popular restaurant in New York City.

Meh.

As usual, the food was good enough. But the restaurant resonated with all the heft of a neighborhood diner. Japanese businessmen at one table made a lot of noise; and at a table nearby some older folks with heavy Southern accents held their own boisterous court. Scattered about the Danny Meyer institution were quiet duos, trios and singles, eating and sipping.

Nothing spectacular, and, except for the bar, it wasn't too crowded. We three got a table within five minutes.

Popular, yes? But most popular? Maybe we came on the wrong day.

As the fall chill sets in and the thought of bundling up in ski gear to stand in line at Shake Shack sounds less appealing, Goodburger offers a sleek, climate-controlled alternative.

For a slight price hike, of course: $10.75 for a double cheeseburger? Even Danny Meyer isn’t that shameless.

How odd that proprietor Nick Tsoulos chose J. Wellington Wimpy, the barrel-bellied beef addict from the Popeye cartoons, as the venue’s mascot.

If the down-and-out burger bum were an actual person, we bet Mr. Tsoulos’s goons would have him promptly escorted from the premises.

The premium prices likely account for the joint’s upscale décor, with flat-screen TVs, merlot-colored walls, dark-wood tables, and a marble countertop featuring gooey desserts in glass-covered cake stands.

House music thumps in the background.

Large wall-length mirrors allow diners to watch their waistbands expand while wolfing down fudge brownie shakes and cheese fries.

What might a modern-day Wimpy say? “I'd gladly pay you Tuesday for a liposuction sesh today.”

The Night Cafe abounded on Thursday night with the sort of sad glee one might find in a sports bar dedicated to a losing team: You know it’s hopeless, but the company of strangers struggling in the same lost cause helps immensely.

The Morningside Heights dive bar is expected to close this weekend, thrown under the bus of a neighborhood in rapid flux from iffy to immaculate. As the clock ticked, a motley, jovial assortment of mostly middle-aged patrons on rickety stools drank cosmos and domestic beers in shady lighting; and, perhaps fittingly, around 10, someone put the Queen-David Bowie duet “Under Pressure” on the jukebox.

Can’t we give ourselves one more chance, indeed.

“It’s been like this all summer,” said one soused patron. “Who knows?”

The owner, himself sipping a pilsner from a giant wine glass, said Sunday should be his Night Café’s last day, however. Get the dingy while you can.

Spitzer’s Corner raises a big middle finger to the regnant sensibility of au courant Lower East Side nightlife.

Unpretentious, friendly in service, possessed of immaculate oysters and mussels, and with a beer list to rival any pub in the borough, the bar felt on a recent Thursday night like your favorite college hangout—only scrubbed much cleaner and featuring a clientele old enough to remember Pedro and Puck, but not young enough to be up on The Hills.  read more »

It’s no walk in Madison Square Park but standing in line amid scattered peanut shells, decorative stacks of potato sacks, and Kmart-esque florescent lighting is good for a rainy day.

“Now D.C.’s got nuthin’ on us!” declared one of many proudly posted comment cards displayed inside the delightfully boastful suburban Washington, D.C.-founded burger chain’s first New York City location, which opened in July.  read more »

The first U.S. branch of Japanese noodle chain Ramen Setagaya sticks out pleasantly on First Avenue in the East Village.

At 2 p.m. on Thursday, the bright, sparsely adorned place had a distinctly, well, Japanese feel to it: blaring Japanese pop music, customers reading Japanese newspapers, a Japanese game show on the flat-screen—and, of course, oddly filling Japanese food.

And that’s the thing about Ramen Setagaya: the emphasis on eating.  read more »

For all the clamor and crowds initially drawn to Whole Foods on the Bowery, which opened this past spring, the place is an organic ghost town during the daytime.

“Hello? Hellooooo?” huffed one silk-shirted gentleman who lingered several minutes without service by an unattended meat counter one recent Thursday afternoon.

Sure, there's some lunch-hour action in the upper-level food court. But the spacious grocery aisles looked desolate. The near total lack of hustle and bustle seemed to leave the dozen or so patrons in a lethargic daze, seemingly hypnotized by the maze of organic teas and spelt-made pastas.

One dreadlocked gentleman sporting cargo shorts stared for nearly 10 whole minutes at an expansive selection of syrup in the coffee aisle.

Molasses, anyone?

For a venue that strives to reflect the down-home feel of a small college-town hangout, the new NYU-area Grey Dog Coffee sure picked an awfully early bedtime.

3 p.m.? Even the kiddies in Poughkeepsie stay out later than that!

"JUST WORKIN OUT THE KINKS" reads a sign at the entrance of the tiny shop, which opened last week. (On Monday, the caffeine’s supposed to flow as late as 11:30 p.m. The 24-hour Starbucks at Union Square is quivering at the prospect.)

Break out the camo shorts and bandanas -- and be prepared to endure an emasculating playlist of Bloc Party and Sufjan Stevens songs -- amid a decor that's part urban loft (exposed brick, piping), and part country farm (brown fencing, weather vanes). The propped open door only enhances the motif, suggesting that these friendly baristas truly grew up in a barn.

Be forewarned, city slickers: Leave the conversation-killing laptop at home. There's no wifi -- nor even many available electrical sockets. "We're not into that," explained one barista.

"I feel like I just stepped into Alabama."

Indeed. Except it was the eastern edge of Chelsea, where Hill Country Barbecue Market opened recently. Still, the random gentleman who made that remark wasn't far off--the joint exudes a decidedly un-Manhattan flavor in both its cuisine and its service.  read more »

Looking for some place sort of exclusive--but without all the hang-ups of actual exclusivity?

Try PDT, the pseudo-secret yet strangely well-publicized bar tucked behind an old phone booth inside Crif Dogs on St. Marks.

The patronage isn’t particularly special or super attractive. Or even “in the know.” Just smart enough to make a reservation:  read more »

The full flowering of the financial district’s success since Sept. 11, 2001, can be smelt within the Broad Street Hermès store, which had its first full day Friday.

To be amongst its $1,250 t-shirts, $520 belts, $5,750 leather jackets and $810 handbags is to feel the full braggadocio of capitalism in Manhattan—Power! Money! Stephen Schwarzman!—and it felt pretty good, though a bit disquieting. After all, the prices!  read more »

Blue Ribbon Downing Street Bar oozes romance. Chicks flock like cops to a donut shop--yet, wherefore art thou, Romeo?

Ladies vastly outnumbered the gentlemen 14 to 4 at 7:30 on Thursday evening.
 read more »

Viva la devolution!

With its faux-peeling paint job and Third-World decor, Bodeguita Cubana aims to evoke some dive straight out of Fidel Castro’s Caribbean archipelago.

And how: Like Cuba, the tiny eatery lacks a steady flow of Americans passing through the door. A mere seven patrons paid a visit to the 25-seat East Village eatery during the Friday lunch hour.

But good riddance! Those mohawked messengers and Chihuahua-toting N.Y.U. girls would muss up the lazy atmosphere.  read more »

So you want to have an affair, but the goddamn paparazzi won’t leave you and your lover alone. What to do?

Step into the Gramercy Park Hotel, head for the private elevator, and jet up 16 floors to Ian Schrager’s new playground, the Private Roof Club and Garden. First, though, book a room or know (or be) somebody: The warren of sunrooms and bars is restricted to overnight guests and high-priced private parties.

If you get in, mellow out in the soft candle light amid plush furniture and a jungle of foliage that claims citrus trees, orchids and ivy among. Gaze upon original pieces by Andy Warhol and Damien Hirst; and, in one room roasted by a working fireplace, gander at a display of 1,000 light bulbs overhead.

There’s a wide view of chunks of midtown and the East Side (the Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building stand out). And there’s… well, why bother going on? You probably can’t get in. (Good luck, though.)  read more »

Missed the Jitney? No matter. Pack your brightest tennis shirt, the one with the green crocodile, and a-mosey on down to Bar Martignetti in Soho.

You’ll find others who couldn’t afford the Hamptons, couldn’t get to the Hamptons, or couldn’t admit they couldn’t afford nor get to the Hamptons. Khakis and sundresses and brown shoes and clickety-clack heels in the early evening network amid a joyful noise—Bob Marley’s greatest hits—and sip $11 bellinis, $7 beers and cheap wine that pours at around $30 a chilled bottle.

You could take this bar home to meet your mother. Indeed, Bar Martignetti--from the cheery wait staff to the breezy clientele to the magazine rack (Town & Country, Fader, that old GQ with Lindsey Lohan on the cover)--wraps itself in a familiar blanket of non-threatening frivolity.

The Times labeled it preppy earlier this month; we label it precious.

Dateline: Grom, Upper West Side gelato shop of epic lines and ravenous delectability.

Supposedly.

Instead, on a balmy weekday afternoon, only a fizzle of baby carriages and older women stood on the leisurely Broadway sidewalk.

Inside, just like any other fro-yo joint: stark, sterile and artificial; the seating in the back, all plastic and uncomfortable, smacked of Jamba Juice. Large windows allowed a peek into the back hallway to watch the actual gelato-making process (!), which included some guy creepily pulling on a pair of plastic gloves and pouring cream and almonds into a churning unit that looked like a washing machine.

Exciting, right?

The serving sizes were way too expensive. The extra large Grom cup is about the size of Baskin Robbins’ double scoop ($3.99) yet more than twice the price. (But the neon-colored spoons are more fun than the usual white plastic ones!)

A young lady and her older relative got back into line for seconds to bring home, otherwise… Tasti D-Lite, anyone

Karaoke night on Tuesday at the Star Lounge in the basement of the Chelsea Hotel brought out a mix of leggy model types fluttering around stringy young men dressed invariably like the characters from HBO’s Entourage.

Oh well.  read more »